Flu
by Trn736
Summary: The Marsh Family bought tickets to the Denver Broncos game this Sunday. Stan is incredibly excited to go but gets very sick the day before they leave and is unable to attend. As to not waste money, the family goes without Stan, who the Broflovski's agree to take care of for the two days they're gone. Depressed and ill, Kyle tries to make his best friend feel better.
1. Chapter 1

_**Flu**_

**Disclaimer: **All places and characters referenced to the television show _South Park_ are the property of Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

"Stanley! Get up now or you're going to be late for school!" Sharon yelled from the kitchen.

Stan had just dozed off not even two hours ago. He is lying in bed wrapped up in multiple blankets, still shivering. He has a massive headache and a sore throat. Every muscle in his body aches and he is exhausted.

It had been a rough night. Stan had gotten sick the previous evening and it only got worse over the course of the night. He has stayed home sick from school many times before with illnesses far less severe than this one, he hasn't been this sick in a long time. Normally he wouldn't have a problem telling his mom he needs a sick day from school and spend the day with his mom babying him and trying to sleep it off, but this time is different.

Last week Randy and Sharon gave Stan a huge surprise. They had bought tickets to see the Broncos verse the Patriots in Denver on Sunday afternoon. They also booked a hotel for Saturday night, planning to make the long drive a day in advance.

It is Friday morning. They are leaving tomorrow afternoon. Stan knows if he thinks he is sick enough to ask his mom if he can stay home from school today, there is no way she is going to let him go to Denver tomorrow.

_Ugh… I feel terrible. I'm going to try my best to downplay this though. I don't want mom to catch on to me being sick and make me stay home tomorrow. I'll take some medicine before I head out to the bus stop and hopefully I can make it through the day and feel better before tomorrow…_

"Stanley!" Sharon nagged.

"I'm up!" Stan responded in a raspy voice.

He cleared his throat and unwrapped himself from his blanket cocoon.

_Jesus Christ! It's freezing in here_! He thought, holding his arms to his body for warmth as he lethargically walked to his dresser.

He picked out his usual outfit and decided to layer another long sleeve shirt with his t-shirt under his jacket today and after throwing on a long pair of socks and his shoes, he decided he better head to bathroom before going downstairs to see if he looked as bad as he felt.

_Oh man, I look horrible…_ He thought, staring at the bags under his sagging eyes and his slightly pale face.

He drew some warm water in the sink and splashed some on his face to try to wake himself up. After a few rounds of splashing, he straightened up his hair and put his hat on before proceeding to rummage through the medicine cabinet in search of something for his headache; which he eventually did find.

_Better head downstairs, _he sighed. _She'll be expecting me for breakfast_. _Man… food does not sound good at all right now._

As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he put on a fake smile. Sharon was standing at the counter and Shelly was sitting at the table with her breakfast plate.

"Good morning, mom."

"Good morning, honey. I'm putting your plate together right now, just waiting on the toast."

Stan took a seat at the table opposite of Shelly and sipped at his orange juice.

"I got up early this morning, so I decided to make you kids something special," she said, placing a plate of French toast and sausage in front of Stan. "I know it's you kids' favorite," she said smiling. "Eat up!"

Both Stan and Shelly love this breakfast, she only makes it for them a few times a year on special occasions like a birthday.

Stan sat there looking at his plate of, usually beloved, French toast and sausage. The mere smell of syrup and eggs made him queasy.

"Thanks mom! It looks great…," he said trying to not lose control of his stomach.

_I don't think I can eat this and not throw up… But if I don't eat it, she'll definitely know something isn't right… How the hell am I going to get out of this one…?_

He gingerly picked up a sausage link and took a small bite as Sharon turned back to the counter to fix herself a plate.

_Oh, god…_ Stan thought at the feeling of his stomach flipping from one bite of sausage.

While Sharon was preoccupied at the counter, Shelly reached over and moved the food from Stan's plate onto hers.

"You tell mom, I'll kill you. Got it turd?" she whispered.

_That worked out too well…_ Stan nodded.

"Wow Stanley! You devoured that," Sharon said, looking at his empty plate.

"Yeah, I was hungry… Thanks again mom it was good…I'm going to go brush my teeth and head out."

"Alright honey."

With that Stan rushed back up the stairs to the bathroom and lost the battle with his stomach. After cleaning up and brushing his teeth twice, he picked up his backpack and headed for the door.

"Have a good day at school. Love you!" Sharon said as she hugged her son goodbye.

"Love you too mom," he said, walking out the door and in the direction of the bus stop.


	2. Chapter 2

As Stan approached the bus stop Kenny, Cartman, and Kyle were already there waiting.

"Hey Stan!" Kyle greeted first.

"Hey."

"Stan, did you check out that awesome video I e-mailed you last night? It's super funny," Cartman inquired.

"What video?" Kyle questioned.

"Nothing you need to know about, Jew!" Cartman sneered.

"Shut up, Cartman!"

"You shut up, Kahl!"

"Guys!" Stan interjected as his pounding headache worsened from the yelling. "Please… Not today."

Both Kyle and Cartman looked at each other curiously.

"Wonder what's wrong with him." Cartman nudged Kenny, who shrugged.

Kyle surveyed his friend, suspicious of his unusually short tolerance threshold. The prominent bags under his sagging eyes caught his attention.

"Dude, you look beat."

"Yeah, I didn't sleep hardly at all last night," Stan sighed.

"Why not? Did something happen?" Kyle asked genuinely concerned.

"I got sick last night."

"Sick? Kyle asked, taking a closer look at his friend. He noticed Stan was shivering and had a rather pained look on his slightly pale face.

"Yeah, Stan. You look pretty sick," Kenny observed.

_Oh great… It looks like I'm doing a fantastic job downplaying this… _Stan criticized himself.

"I feel terrible," he admitted. "My head hurts, my stomach hurts, every muscle in my body aches, I'm tired, and freezing…"

"And your mom wouldn't let you stay home?!" Kyle asked in alarmed disbelief.

"No, I didn't ask her…," he conceded.

"What?!"

"I don't want her to know I'm sick because then I wouldn't be able to go to Denver tomorrow to see the Broncos on Sunday," Stan said, almost crying.

"It's okay dude, it's not like this is the last Broncos game ever," Kyle said comfortingly. "You can always go to a different game."

"Yeah right…You know how long I've wanted to go to a game and how long it took before the finally gave in. Plus they already bought the tickets and would probably never buy any more if these were wasted," Stan said as a few tears streamed down his face.

"I'm sure your parents would understand. It's not your fault you got sick. I know they would buy tickets for another game sometime."

Stan chortled at the validity of that statement. His laughing was followed up by a coughing fit.

"Dude, let me walk you back home. Please. You are in no condition to even be outside, let alone go to school today," Kyle implored.

"I took some medicine before I left. I'm going to make it through today and hopefully it is a little better tomorrow," Stan stood his ground stubbornly.

"Stan…," he attempted one last time.

"Time's up! The bus is here already," Cartman interrupted as it turned the corner.

The boys boarded the bus and it took off in the direction of the school.

_I'll be amazed if he makes it to lunch_, Kyle thought, looking at his best friend who was sleeping with his head against the bus window beside him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stan, wake up! We need to get to class," Kyle said gently shaking him.

"Huh?" he opened his eyes forgetting where he was for a second.

"We're going to be late here in about four minutes!" Kyle said extending his hand to Stan and pulling him to his feet.

Stan coughed to clear his throat, "Thanks."

The boys exited the bus and headed toward the school building. Stan was struggling to keep up with Kyle's hurried pace. As they entered, the otherwise unnoticeable bright-white fluorescent lighting flooded Stan's heavy eyes and instantly intensified his headache and nausea to a nearly unbearable point. No words were spoken nor glances spared as the duo proceeded to their lockers for books and headed to Mr. Garrison's 4th grade classroom.

"Not a moment too soon," Kyle smiled to Stan as they took their usual seats side-by-side, front-and-center in the class just as the bell rang.

Stan merely nodded as he sank low into his chair and settled in for what was sure to be an epic, day-long battle of not falling asleep and not vomiting on his desk.

Proceeding the bell, Mr. Garrison approached the chalkboard and started writing in an agitated manor.

"Alright class, I'm not happy about this and you won't be either. This morning we are going to learn about fractions."

Moans filled the room.

"I don't want to teach this and you don't want to learn this but the god damn school board is forcing me to teach this now or I lose my job."

"That'd be a cryin' shame," Eric nudged Kenny. "Isn't that right Kenny?"

Kenny chuckled.

"Come on guys. Fractions aren't _that_ bad," Kyle assured.

"Yeah guys… Fractions aren't _that_ bad," Cartman mocked.

_Oh Jesus… Here we go again. _Stan thought as he rested his head on his arms in hopes of shielding his throbbing head from the bickering about to ensue.

"Cartman, do you even know what a fraction is?!"

"Sure I do. It's when you have something and you take something away from that something…"

"That's _subt_raction fatass!"

"Well I'm sorry we can't all be straight 'A' Jews like you Kahl!"

"Enough!" Garrison interjected. "All you little bastards need to stop bitching and just accept that you need to learn this for the upcoming state test," he said, repositioning in front of the chalk board.

_I'll close my eyes just for a minute until he finishes writing._ Stan decided, listening to the scraping of the chalk.

After a few minutes of writing, the board was covered in fraction problems.

"We're going to do some practice problems. I'll call out a problem and then call on a person to answer it. I'm going to do this randomly, so you all better be paying attention! Let's start with, one half plus one fourth; Clyde?

"One third?"

"Okay… Wendy?"

"Three fourths."

"Good. Next, one third plus one fourth; Kyle?"

"Seven twelfths."

"Nice job! How about… One sixth plus one third; Stan?

"…"

Mr. Garrison turned to a sleeping Stan in search of the hold up.

"Stanley!"

Stan quickly raised his head, "Wha…?"

"One sixth plus one third. What's the answer, Stan?"

_Crap! _"Umm…," he stuttered, unable to think clearly.

"If this is so easy for you that you think you can sleep through it, what's the answer?!"

"Uh…"

"One half," Kyle whispered.

"One half."

"That's right. The next time I catch you sleeping in my class I'm sending you to the principal's office, understand?"

"Yes sir…," Stan responded shakily, flustered by the exchange.

"Thanks for the save," he said, turning toward Kyle.

"You should go home. You really need some rest, dude," Kyle proclaimed as the rest of the classroom was preoccupied with more fraction problems.

"I just - he muffled a cough - I just had to close my eyes for a minute. It won't happen again," he uttered groggily.

Kyle just sighed at the stubbornness of his best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the morning passed by painfully slow. Stan had fallen asleep again but Mr. Garrison was so preoccupied attempting to futilely explain the concept of a fraction to Cartman, Kyle decided to leave him be.

"Stan," Kyle nudged him.

"…"

"Stan!" He whispered louder.

"Hrm?"

"It's almost – he was interrupted by a bell – lunch time."

"Ugh," was all he could think of to say at the thought of food, putting his head back down on the desk.

"God dammit!" Garrison swore in a frustrated tone. "Alright – he took a deep breath – class is excused for lunch… We'll pick up here in an hour."

"Come on, Stan," Kyle jarred his friend again.

"Leave me behind, dude. I'm not hungry."

"Well at least come get a drink of water or something; that might make you feel better. Plus, I don't think Garrison will let you stay here without sending you off to the nurse who will send you home."

_He's right._ "Okay," he sighed as he pulled his cold, aching body out of the desk and walked toward the door with the rest of the class.

"Not so fast, Eric!" Garrison interjected before the fat boy, just in front of Kyle and Stan, could cross the door precipice into the hall.

"What?!" Cartman whirled around, caught off guard.

"You're not going anywhere until you do these homework problems. Sit back down."

"What!? I'm going to miss lunch!"

"I'm sure you won't starve… Now sit back down," Garrison said rather condescendingly.

"You can't do that!" Cartman challenged.

"Actually, I can. Now sit back down or I'm sending you to the principal's office!"

Cartman submitted and hotly stomped back to his desk, where he took a seat.

"Oh boy! With Cartman not eating today we'll probably have enough food left over to feed six starving countries in Africa!" Kyle jeered.

Visibly shaking with anger, Cartman proceeded to flip Kyle off with both hands.

"Eric!" Mr. Garrison gasped.

Even though he still felt horrible, Kyle's crack at Cartman made Stan smile and feel just a little bit better.

Kyle and Stan made sure they were just clear of the door before they both burst out laughing.

"That was – Stan had a violent coughing fit – too funny," he winced.

Stan's coughing fit grabbed the attention of another concerned friend, the kind-hearted Butters Stotch.

"Are you okay, Stan?" Butters asked lightly patting him on the back.

"Yeah, Butters… I'm fine… Thanks."

"Are you sure, cause you don't look too well."

_Jesus Christ._ "I'm fine, really," Stan tried to smile.

"Al-alright then," Butter said as he walked back to his locker.

"I'll admit," Kyle started as they walked toward the cafeteria, "I didn't think you were going to last this long. How are you feeling?"

"Worse," he moaned as they took their place in the lunch line.

Before Kyle had a chance to say anything in return, Stan broke from the line.

"I'm gonna go sit down. I'll save you spot."

Stan took a seat at an empty table no one usually sat at and began concentrating on not throwing up from the mere aroma of food. After a few minutes Kyle sat his tray of food down next to him and took a seat.

"I got you this," Kyle said as he handed Stan a bottle of water.

"Thanks," he replied sitting the bottle off to his side.

"Dude, if you're not going to eat anything you at least need to drink some water. As sick as you are I wouldn't want you passing out from dehydration and ending up in the hospital or something."

"Yeah," Stan conceded as he unscrewed the cap and took a few sips.

Knowing Stan was not much in the mood for talking, the two spent the remainder of their lunch period in silence.

Though he was pretty sure the water was making his stomach feel worse, Stan had just managed to choke down the last bit of his water when the bell signifying the end of lunch period rang.

"I wonder if Cartman ever made it to lunch," Kyle broke the prolonged silence as he stood up.

"I'm sure we would have heard him if he did," Stan offered.

"Good point!" Kyle laughed as he threw his food scraps in a large trashcan with everyone else's.

The awful smell of this rotting puree of uneaten and half-eat food almost made Stan lose it as he shuddered.

The boys hung around in the hallway for a few minutes with everyone else before returning to their fourth grade classroom.

When Stan and Kyle entered the room, they observed Mr. Garrison with his elbows on his desk, face in hands and Cartman sitting at his desk with a large tray of food from the cafeteria.

The two friends looked at each other questioningly before taking their seats a few rows in front of Eric.

"I thought you didn't get lunch until you did those questions?" Stan asked weakly.

"Turns out – he paused to shovel food into his mouth – he can keep me here over lunch but it's actually illegal for him to deny me lunch," Cartman spouted victoriously.

"How long before you're done eating?" Stan asked, feeling his sensitive stomach start to flip again from the smell of Cartman's food a few feet behind him.

"I just got food like five minutes ago. I get to take my full lunch hour if I want is what the principal said. Why do you care?"

_Oh god. I don't know if I can make it. _Stan ignored Eric's question as he tried to not throw up.

Cartman shrugged and proceeded to stuff his face.

A few moments later the rest of the class filed in and the bell signifying the start of afternoon classes rang.

"Okay everyone," Garrison began after regaining composure from what was surely a very frustrating hour with Eric Cartman, "we were working on adding fractions this morning, this afternoon we are going to work on subtracting them. I realize that adding and subtracting fractions are pretty much the same thing and therefore shouldn't need to be taught individually, but we are going to go over it separately for the benefit of certain students in this class," he said, staring unwaveringly at Cartman.

With that, he turned around to the chalk board and began writing problems for the second time today.

_I'm not gonna make it. _Stan raised his hand in a panic to be excused to the bathroom.

Kyle sensed Stan's urgency and attempted to get the teacher's attention, "Mr. Garrison!"

He turned around just in time to see Stan vomit all over his desk and the floor in front of it.

The class let out a collective "Eww!"

"Jesus, Stanley," Mr. Garrison said, surprised.

"I'm sorry…," Stan responded as he hung his head, tears welling in his eyes.

"No… It's okay," Garrison assured, feeling kind of bad about the unintentional scornful tone his previous words carried. "Why don't you head on down to the bathroom to clean up and then go to the nurse's office? I'll get a janitor."

Stan slid out of his desk and channeled all of his willpower into not breaking down crying in front of the entire class.

"I'll make sure he gets there," Kyle said hopping out of his desk to escort his super best friend.

"Alright, Kyle," he agreed, knowing they were good friends, "just be back as soon as you can."

"You were right Kyle… I should have stayed home," Stan whined as they walked toward the bathroom.

They entered the bathroom and Stan took off his vomit-stained brown jacket and threw it to the side rather angrily before proceeding to splash some water on his face and rise his mouth.

"Well, looks like I won't be going to that Broncos game now..," Stan sniffed.

"It'll be okay dude," Kyle attested, trying to calm him.

Stan just sighed as he picked up his jacket and head to the nurse's office.

"I better be getting back to class before Mr. Garrison gets mad," Kyle said, standing by the office door. "I'll come over and see how you're doing after school," Kyle patted him on the shoulder, "Feel better, okay?"

"'Kay," Stan managed to respond, still trying not to cry.

Stan took a deep breath before opening the door.

"Hello there! You must be Stanley from Mr. Garrison's class," the sweet young-looking school nurse said.

"Yeah…"

"Have a seat over there sweetie and just relax. The call I got from the office said you got sick in class?"

"Yeah…" Stan reiterated as he sat down in the comfy chair.

"Do you just have a tummy ache, or…?"

"That and my head hurts, and I'm cold, and my whole body aches," Stan coughed, annoyed.

"It sounds like you might have the flu that's been going around. Let me take your temperature," taking out a thermometer and placing it under Stan's tongue. "102.5. Oh, my! I'm going to tell the main office to call your mom. You should be in bed," she said, exiting the room.

At this point, knowing any chance of still being able to go to the Broncos game was truly gone, Stan began to cry.


	5. Chapter 5

"Your mom said she'd be…," she realized he was crying as she closed the door.

"Don't cry, Stanley. I know being sick is no fun at, but you'll be alright," she said taking a seat next to him, not knowing the main reason he was upset.

"Your mom said she'd be here in just a few minutes to pick you up. You can go home, change into some comfy PJ's, crawl into your nice, warm bed, and take a nap. That sounds good, doesn't it?" She pat his knee.

Stan nodded as he calmed down a bit.

Not five minutes later, Sharon walked into the nurse's office.

"Stan, honey, not feeling well?"

Stan said nothing as he slipped out of the chair with his head hung dejectedly and walked toward his mom.

"He got sick in class," the nurse began, "I think he may have that flu that's been going around, he has a temperature of 102.5."

"Oh my gosh!" Sharon clamored.

"It's nothing to be worried about as long as it goes down soon," she reassured.

"Alright, thanks. Come on Stanley, let's get you home."

Sharon led the way through the halls and out to their car with Stan lethargically following behind.

Stan got into the front passenger seat of the car and sat there for most of the ride home quietly, only making noise to cough every now and again, until Sharon asked, "Why did you not tell me you weren't feeling well this morning? With a 100 plus fever you know I would have let you stay home."

"I don't know," Stan shrugged, staring at the floor board, knowing full well why he did not say anything.

A few minutes later, they pulled into their driveway.

"Go upstairs and change into something comfortable, sweetheart. I'll find something to make you feel better."

Stan trudged into the house and up the stairs to his room, which was left in disarray.

Pillows were strewn across the floor from his haphazardly made bed, last night's pajamas were balled up near his dresser, and various other articles of clothing were trailing out of his closet as a result of late-night blanket searching, but he was too tired and sick to care.

He pulled his comfiest pair of pajamas out of his dresser before tearing his school clothes off creating another pile in an empty corner of his room.

_I'll clean this place up later…_ He decided, pulling back the covers of his bed and hoping in, trying to get warm.

Sharon walked in shortly thereafter. "Stanley I – Wow! This place is a mess," she examined the disheveled room.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance of the patronizing words.

"Have you eaten anything since breakfast?" She questioned him, miraculously disregarding the littered room.

_More like dinner last night. _"No," he maintained his breakfast lie knowing she would force him to eat something if she knew the truth.

"I want you to get something on your stomach before I give you this medicine."

"I'm not hungry," Stan replied.

"I could make you some soup?" Sharon tried.

"I'm not hungry."

"How about just some crackers then?" She insisted.

"I'm not hungry! Mom, please!" Stan implored.

Sharon sighed, "Okay, honey. But you have to eat something later."

_Fat chance._

She exited and returned shortly with medicine and a bottle of water.

"I want you to drink a lot of water to stay hydrated," she said, handing him the bottle.

_This sounds familiar… _"Okay…," he accepted.

"This should help your tummy ache," she offered, handing him a cap of pink liquid.

'_Tummy', what am I? Five?_

"What is this?" He asked, inspecting the foreign liquid.

"It's Pepto Bismol, it should settle your stomach."

The thought of relief was all the motivation he needed to proceed to slam the whole cap of medicine.

He gaged, caught off guard by the awkward peppermint taste and chalky texture before sipping on some water to clear the taste.

"These too," Sharon handed him two Tylenol.

"This should help with the pain and that that fever."

He downed both pills without a hitch.

"Is there anything else you need before I go back downstairs?"

"No…," Stan replied sleepily, sinking down into his soft, warm bed.

Sharon looked caringly at her sick son for a moment before offering, "Do you want me to read you a story? Stories always used to make you feel better when you were sick."

_Seriously…? I'm not five anymore._ He thought, embarrassed.

Stan contemplated saying that out loud for a moment before seeing the purely nurturing motherly look on his mom's face and rightfully deciding to not be mean.

"No… That's okay. Thanks though… Maybe some other time?"

"Anytime," she smiled, tucking in some of the blankets and giving him a kiss on the forehead before leaving for the door.

"Mom?" Stan asked before she shut his door.

"Yeah?"

"What about the football game on Sunday?" He asked.

"You're pretty sick, sweetie. We'll probably just have to cancel and stay here this weekend."

"But… What about the tickets you bought already?"

"You're more important than the price of those tickets, Stanley. I'll talk to your dad and we'll figure something out, okay? Just shut your eye for a bit and get some rest," she said, closing the door.

Though still heartbroken by the situation at hand, Stan did not have enough energy left to be sad at the moment and was essentially too tired to care.

He exhaled deeply and, for the first time in about 24 hours, felt somewhat comfortable. He shifted in his bed and dozed off into some much needed sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

"Eric… Please… For the love of God… There is no way you still don't understand this. You're just being difficult," Mr. Garrison nearly begged, after having been at this for hours now.

"I don't see how one of your students; a student you are tasked with teaching, nonetheless, not understanding a concept is me being difficult, Mr. Garrison," Cartman conveyed.

"That's the thing, though. You do understand this," Garrison spoke loudly "I know dogs it would be easier for me to teach adding and subtracting fractions to, but I am pretty god damn certain you know how to do this and are wasting my time by running me in circles because you think this is funny you little bastard!" He ended nearly yelling.

"Think it's funny? This is hilarious! Plus, I can't help it if you're a crappy teacher," Cartman said snidely.

"That's it! I don't care! I just don't care anymore. You go ahead right ahead and draw pictures with the bubbles on that standardized test, you little prick. And when you're reduced to a pile of trash who's not even fit to flip my hamburger at the McDonalds down the street because you failed to pass fourth grade – the fourth grade – I still will not care! You aren't even going to make it to be a high school dropout!" He exasperated.

"So what if I lose my job because some fat kid is mentally incapable or unwilling of understanding simple math concepts?" He resumed his rant, "I just don't care. In fact, I would welcome it. Not having to come to this dump of a school every day to put up with all you little bastards would be fantastic! But that's not going to happen. You know why? Because there is not a person in the tri-state area, other than myself, that would be willing to put up with your shit on a daily basis and not brutally kill you or themself, Eric Cartman!" He screamed, swiping his arm across his desk, scattering various papers and folders onto the floor before sitting down.

The whole class stared to the front of the room in silence and shock. Everyone was well aware Mr. Garrison would have some angry outbursts from time to time, usually directed at Cartman, but this was borderlining on a complete meltdown.

"Whoa…," Eric seemed taken back, "That… Was awesome!" He burst into hysterical laughter.

Garrison's face proceeded to hit his desk.

Shortly thereafter the 3:42 bell rang, signifying the beginning of the weekend.

Everyone hurriedly gathered their things and rushed into the hallway, eager to start the weekend. Everyone except Kyle, who stayed behind for a few moments.

"Mr. Garrison?" Kyle approached cautiously.

"That little bastard won't drive me to suicide… I won't give him that satisfaction," he declared, head still on desk.

"Uh…"

"Murder… On the other hand…," he whispered.

"Um…"

"Sorry, Kyle," he finally acknowledged him, raising his head and taking a deep breath, "You're one of the few students I don't mind teaching. You're one of the few students I can actually count on to do homework and you're generally not an idiot."

"Thanks…?" Kyle was confused and annoyed by 'generally'.

"Speaking of homework," Kyle began, "Is there anything you want me to take Stan?"

"I had a worksheet… But since we didn't get as far as I so naïvely anticipated, we'll just say no homework."

"Alright, Thanks," Kyle said, walking toward the door.

"Sure…," Garrison slammed his head back onto his desk.

Kyle made haste to grab his bag from his locker and start the trek to his house first.

* * *

"How was your day, bubi?" Sheila asked as Kyle walked in.

"Bad."

"Why bad?"

"Stan got sick and had to go home. I think he has the flu."

"Oh, poor boy…"

"Mom, would it be alright if I went over to Stan's house for a bit?"

"If he's sick you should just let him rest, bubile," Sheila insisted.

"I have some homework I need to give him," Kyle quickly created an alibi.

"Alright…," She gave in, "Just be back by dinner time."

"Okay."

Kyle walked into the kitchen to get a drink before he left. He opened the refrigerator in search of something to find a few cans of Sprite sitting in the door. Kyle took one for himself, closed the door, and began walking out of the kitchen before stopping suddenly.

_These are good for stomach aches, aren't they? _He tried to remember looking at the can of Sprite.

_I'll take him one anyway. _ He decided, returning for a second can. He stuffed the extra can in his bag and headed off to Stan's house.

* * *

_Knock, Knock_

Sharon answered the door.

"Hey, Mrs. Marsh. Can I talk to Stan for a minute?"

"Stanley's sick, Kyle. I don't know if he's up to visitors."

"I know he's sick but can I please talk to him? Just for a minute," Kyle supplicated.

"You can go upstairs and see if he's awake, if he isn't don't bother him though. Okay?"

Sharon stepped aside.

"Okay!"

Kyle moved quickly up the stairs to Stan's closed door.

He quietly opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Psst!"

A mass shifted under a mountain of blankets.

"Psst! Stan!" Kyle whispered.

"Kyle…?" Stan sat up a little too quickly and felt light headed.

"How are you feeling?" Kyle asked, walking in.

"Not too bad until I was woken up," he said crossly, still in a daze.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I'll leave," Kyle glumly turned toward the door.

"Wait! Sorry, Kyle. I didn't mean it like that," Stan called him back.

"Are you sure, dude? I can always come back," Kyle offered.

"I'm sure. I'm up."

"Do you still have a stomach ache?" Kyle rummaged through his bag.

"Yeah…"

"Try this. If I remember right it's supposed to help settle an upset stomach," he said, handing him the can of soda.

"Sprite?"

"Mhm," Kyle nodded.

"Well I guess if I'm going to be forced to drink something, this at least has some flavor… Thanks, dude."

"No problem."

Kyle took a seat on the floor next to Stan's bed and after a minute or so of silence Stan asked, "So, what's up?"

"The funniest thing happened at the end of the day today…," Kyle laughed.

"What was that?" Stan inquired eagerly.

"You know how Cartman was having trouble with fractions?"

"Yeah."

"Well Mr. Garrison had a total meltdown because of it!"

"He rants at Cartman nearly twice a week," Stan said, rather unimpressed.

"This time was different though, dude. He was yelling and screaming and throwing things off his desk. He told Cartman that he wasn't even going to make it to be a high school drop out because he's gonna fail the fourth grade!"

"Really? Awe man, I wish I would have been there!"

"It was great!"

Their exchange was halted as they both listened in on an argument going on down the hall.

* * *

"Well what are we going to do then, Randy?" Sharon asked, harshly.

"These tickets are too expensive for us to just not use, Sharon."

"So we're just going to pack up and leave our sick, 10-year-old son here to take care of himself?" Sharon questioned in disbelief.

* * *

"They're… They're going to go without me," Stan winced, tears streaming down his cheeks.

At a lack for anything consoling to say Kyle merely embraced his best friend, who returned the embrace.

After a few moments, Stan pulled away.

"They should go," he sniffed, "I know those things cost a lot of money and I'll definitely never get another chance to go if these go to waste," he wiped away some tears.

"Come on," he freed himself from the mound of blankets and led the way down the hall.

* * *

"We could always… You know… Find someone to watch him?" Randy proposed.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing! We don't just need a babysitter, Randy. He's sick!"

"I know, Sharon, but…" – he was interrupted by Stan, who was standing in the doorway with Kyle.

"You guys should go…," he said contritely.

"Stan, honey, what are you doing out of bed?" She questioned, caught off guard.

"We heard you arguing and I came down here to tell you, – he paused to cough – you should go. I know how much money tickets cost and I wouldn't want that money to go to waste," he said maturely.

"Well good for you Stan! I'm glad to see you agree that perfectly good Broncos tickets shouldn't go to waste," Randy praised.

This statement struck a sore spot and caused Stan's eyes to well up with tears again.

"Randy!" Sharon scorned.

"We're not going…," Sharon soothed.

"No! You should go!" Stan sniveled.

"If anything your dad can go and I'll stay here with you."

"What am I gonna do with two extra tickets, huh? One is already enough. Come on Sharon, he said we should go."

"He's just saying that because I'm sure he's convinced himself you'll never buy tickets to take him again if these are wasted because that's the kind of person you are, Randy!" Sharon fumed.

_Wow._

"Please!" He yelled, "Please just go…"

"Even if we both were to go, I'm not just going to leave you alone here sick."

"Stan could stay with us," Kyle chimed in. "I'm sure my mom wouldn't have a problem with looking after him while you're gone."

"See, Sharon? The problem solved itself," Randy said smugly.

Sharon glared at him.

"I don't know… It is only for one day essentially," Sharon considered. "You're sure you're alright with this, sweetie? I promise we'll go again someday."

'_Someday'. _He thought, sarcastically.

Stan nodded.

"Alright. I'm going to go give Sheila a call. You get back to bed, Stanley."

Stan walked back to his room and crawled back into bed.

"Are you really okay with them going without you?" Kyle queried.

"Of course not – he coughed again – but if they don't get to go, dad is going to do exactly what mom said and I'll never have another shot to go."

Sensing the pronounced sadness the tone of his words carried, Kyle attempted to cheer him up.

"We'll have more fun over at my place anyway."

"I'm sick, dude. And my parents are going to a football game I've wanted to see since, like, forever. I can't have fun right now," Stan said sullenly.

"I called Sheila, she said she would take care of you while we're gone Stanley. I'm going to drop you off at Kyle's house before we leave tomorrow. She also said dinner is ready and you should head home, Kyle," she exited the room.

"I'll make you have fun!" Kyle said jokingly, lightly punching his friend in the shoulder. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, dude. Feel better so I don't have to deal with _this_ all weekend," he smiled as he walked out.


	7. Chapter 7

"Thanks again for looking after Stanley, Sheila," Sharron said as Stan plodded by her into the Broflovski house.

"It's no problem, Sharron. I'm sure you'd do the same for Kyle."

"I've been giving him Pepto Bismol for his upset stomach and Tylenol for pain and the fever. I gave him a dose just a little while ago and I also made him eat some lunch, so he should be good for a while. We'll only be gone for about a day but here's the number of the hotel we're staying at," she said, handing Sheila a piece of paper.

Sheila laughed, "Don't worry Sharron; we'll take good care of your boy."

Sharron turned to Stan, "We'll be back tomorrow night, sweetie. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Yeah…"

"Sharron! We need to hurry if we want to make it to the hotel in time to check in tonight!" Randy yelled from the car.

"Okay!" She yelled back, irritated.

"Thanks again, Sheila." She hugged Stan and made haste back to the car.

"You can have the couch if you want to take a nap," Sheila said, closing the door, "or Kyle is up in his room if you're feeling up to visiting with him. Just come tell me if you need anything."

"Alright. – he coughed – Thanks."

Though a nap sounded great, Stan felt awkward taking over the Broflovski's living room; so he grabbed his backpack and plodded up the stairs to Kyle's room.

Kyle's door was half open so Stan just proceeded to let himself in.

"Hey Stan!" Kyle said enthusiastically as Stan walked in.

"Hey…"

"Feeling any better?"

"No…," he muttered, setting his backpack down by Kyle's nightstand.

"Oh… So you wouldn't be up to doing anything fun then?"

"Not really," Stan said, lying down face-first on Kyle's floor.

After a few minutes of silence Kyle heard a muffled noise.

"You have a hard floor. You know that?" Stan observed, his face still the carpet.

"That's why normal people sleep on things, genius," Kyle laughed, throwing him a pillow off his bed.

"Thanks…"

Kyle then began rummaging through one of his drawers intently searching for something until he pulled out a deck of cards.

"Want to play a game of cards?" Kyle asked, sitting down on the floor next to Stan.

"No," he coughed.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm tired."

"Tired? What time did you wake up?"

"Why does it matter?" Stan sat up slightly.

"Just wondering."

"11 I think."

"And what time did you go to bed?"

"My mom gave me some of his awesome sleep medicine called Nyquil or something. I don't know if I've ever had it before but I was out a like 7," Stan reminisced fondly.

"It's one right now, that's 16 hours of sleep you got less than three hours ago, dude."

"So…?"

"So why don't you want to play cards with me then?" Kyle reiterated.

"Because I'm sick."

"Remember that one time you had pneumonia but you still _wanted_ to come outside in to the freezing wind and build a snowman with us guys?"

Stan sighed, "Yeah…"

"Being sick has never stopped you from wanting to have fun before," Kyle beheld.

"So…?"

"So why don't – ," he was cut off by Stan.

"Because I'm depressed, okay?!" Stan winced. "Or maybe it's a combination of all three and drugs! I don't know!" He buried his face into Kyle's pillow.

"I know you're really disappointed you didn't get to go to that game, Stan; but it's not the end of the world. You're parents even said they would take you again sometime."

"_Sometime_," Stan mocked.

"Plus, you get to spend the whole weekend with your super best friend. What more could you ask for?" Kyle prodded him in the side.

"Not being sick and going to a Denver Broncos game?" He replied sarcastically.

"Some friend you are," Kyle teased.

"Look," Stan propped himself up on his elbows, "if I agree to play cards with you, can we stop playing 20 questions?"

"Maybe…," Kyle smirked.

The two played Go-Fish for around an hour.

"Do you have any fours?" Kyle asked.

"…"

Kyle looked up from his hand to see Stan's arm extended on the floor with his cards face up. His head was nestled into the pillow and his eyes were closed.

"Hmph," Kyle whispered to himself, "I guess he still was tired."

Kyle gathered up the cards and put the deck back in his drawer. He decided he was going to let Stan sleep and go downstairs to watch television. Kyle was about to walk out of his room when he glanced back at his best friend, asleep on the floor.

_Is he shivering?_

Kyle walked back to his closet and pulled out a spare blanket. He threw the warm blanket over him before exiting the room.

* * *

A few hours later, Sheila called to Kyle from the kitchen.

"Kyle! Dinner's about ready. Go see if Stanley wants to come down."

Kyle hopped off the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"What are we having tonight, mom?"

"Kneidlach, bubi."

"Kneidlach? I thought we only had that during Passover?"

"It is a Jewish staple during Passover, Kyle; but that doesn't mean we aren't allowed to eat it other times. I thought it would be a good thing to make for Stan."

"Yeah…," Kyle was skeptical.

"It makes you feel better when you're sick, doesn't it?"

"Yeah but I'm Jewish, he's not."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll like it bubile. Go see if he wants to come down."

"Alright…," Kyle returned to his room to find Stan in the same position he left him in about four hours ago.

"Hey," he gently shook Stan's shoulder.

"Mmph," he stirred.

"Mom wants to know if you want to come down and eat something."

"Man… I have a terrible headache…," Stan sat up as his words trailed off, "…Eat what?"

"Kneidlach."

"Knei – what the hell is that that?"

"Well, that's what we call it. It's also called matzah ball soup. My mom thought it would make you feel better since it's soup or something," Kyle elaborated.

"And what's a matzah ball?"

"Uh… You know… I couldn't really tell you for sure," Kyle struggled, "A matzah ball is just a matzah ball."

"Mhm…," Stan sounded annoyed.

"I know you Stan and I don't think you would like it. I'll just tell her that you have a bad headache and just want to sleep some more. I'll be back up in a few minutes, okay?"

He coughed and laid his head back down, "'Kay."

* * *

Stan dozed off again but was woken up shortly thereafter by the closing of Kyle's door.

He picked his head off the pillow to see Kyle setting a bowl and a glass on his nightstand.

"Mom told me you had to eat something," he said after noticing Stan was up.

"I thought you said I wouldn't like the stuff you guys were I having?"

"That's why I made you chicken noodle soup instead!" Kyle said, smiling.

Stan was somewhat stunned.

"You… You made me food?"

"Oh, please. It only came out of a can."

"Still dude… You didn't have to do that."

"I know I didn't have to, Stan. But I did to spare you from having to try matzah ball soup for the first time while you're sick," Kyle laughed, handing him the hot bowl.

"Thanks a bunch, Kyle," he said, taking the bowl.

"I'm actually kinda hungry now. My stomach calmed down, I think. Everything else is getting worse though…," he sniffed.

"Speaking of which…," Kyle pulled two pills out of his pocket and hand him the glass of water, "I told mom your headache was bad and she told me to give you these."

"Thanks."

Stan carefully sipped on his soup for a while, while Kyle was rummaging through his closet for something again.

"Thanks again for the soup, Kyle. It was nice and warm," Stan said, curling up in the blanket Kyle left for him earlier.

"No problem dude."

After an interim of silence Kyle asked, "Feel up to playing another game?"

"Like?" Stan already sounded more intrigued than the last time.

"Monopoly?" Kyle dropped the box onto the ground and took a seat.

"Only if you want me to take all your money!" Stan challenged.

"You're on!"

The boys had just started their third game when Sheila walked in.

"It's getting late boys. You should be getting to bed soon. We'll set Stan up on the couch downstairs."

"The couch?" Kyle sounded confused.

"Since we don't have a spare bed, it would be comfier for him than having to sleep on your floor like he does when he sleeps over," she offered.

"That couch isn't comfy enough to sleep on! I'll sleep on my floor and Stan can have my bed," Kyle said quickly.

"He's sick bubi…," she began.

"So? We can always wash the bedding after he leaves."

"Alright, Kyle. It's up to you and him. I don't care what you decide on just get to bed soon," Sheila said, walking out.

"Are you sure you want the floor dude?" He coughed. "It's hard as a rock."

"You've slept on it many times before," Kyle noted, pulling out his sleeping bag from under his bed. "It's not too bad with one of these."

"Kyle… You should really sleep in your own bed. I'll be alright," Stan reassured.

"You're the sick one here, you should have the actual bed," Kyle wouldn't give.

They proceeded to get changed and settle in for the night.

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?" Stan shivered, rolling up in Kyle's blankets.

"I think it's just you," Kyle laughed, throwing him an extra blanket from the closet before hitting the light switch.

After a brief silence a noise filled the dark room.

"See? Didn't you have a pretty good time hanging out with your super best friend today?" Kyle yawned.

"Kyle?"

"Yeah, dude?"

"Thanks… You're the best."

* * *

With that, the boys drifted off to sleep.

About halfway through the night, Kyle was suddenly jarred awake.

"Kyle," Stan shook his friend.

"Stan…," he replied groggily as he sat up in the darkness. "What's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm going to die, dude," his voice quivering.

Now alarmed, Kyle jumped up and hit the lights so he could see what was going on.

After shielding his eyes from the initial blinding surge of light, he got his first good look at Stan.

Stan's face was exceptionally pale. His entire forehead was drenched in sweat and he was shivering uncontrollably.

"Oh my god! What's wrong?!" He asked again.

"I don't know, dude…I'm – he coughed – freezing and can't get warm. I've tried wrapping up in all the blankets… It's been like this for a while."

"How long?" Kyle asked, anxiously.

"I don't know… Maybe 3 hours. I didn't want to wake anyone up…"

"Jesus, Stan! I think this is serious, I'm going to go get my mom!" Kyle exclaimed, ready to rush out of the room.

"No!" Stan stammered. "I'll be alright," he assured

Cynical of Stan's statement but in respect of his wish, he quickly scanned his mind for an approach to take to the situation at hand.

"How about a glass of water?" This was all he could come up with in the heat of the moment.

Without waiting for a reply he bolted to the kitchen and returned shortly with a glass.

"Drink this!" He commanded, shoving the glass in his face.

A few minutes lapsed with no visible change.

_What's the first thing mom does when she thinks I'm really sick…?_ Kyle frantically thought of another approach to take without waking his mom up. _Temperature!_

Without saying anything he ran down the hallway to the bathroom and came back with a thermometer.

"Let me take your temperature, dude," Kyle sat down on the bed next to him.

"No, dude! That's weird," Stan resisted.

"Do you want my mom to do it?! Because she will when I wake her up!"

Stan submitted.

"105… That's high I think, Stan. I'm going to get my mom," Kyle sprang up from a sitting position.

"Kyle, please d - ," Stan got up quickly in attempt to stop him but his legs buckled as soon as he stood upright. Kyle just barely caught him before he hit the ground.

_Oh shit!_

"Stan?!" Kyle shook him.

No response.

"Stan?!" Kyle shook him again violently

No response.

_Oh god…_

Kyle sprinted through the hall to his parents' room and began banging on the door loudly.

"Mom! Dad!" He shouted.

"What on earth is going on, Kyle?!" Both Gerald and Sheila were standing at the door.

"It's Stan," he panted. "He's really sick. He woke me up like 30 minutes ago and he was shivering really bad and… and… I got him a glass of water and when that didn't work I took his temperature because I thought that was going to be something you were going to and then I got up to come get you and he got up too and I think he passed out!" Kyle was almost crying from worry.

"Oh my gosh!" She yelped.

They rushed down the hall back to Kyle's room where Stan was lying, motionless, on the floor.

"Gerald, go get a damp washcloth!" Sheila directed.

"Stanley?" Sheila brushed her hand against Stan's forehead. "Oh my!" She gasped.

"You said you took his temperature, Kyle?"

He nodded fearfully.

"What was it?"

"105" Kyle replied.

"105?!" She nearly screamed.

"Forget the washcloth, Gerald. We need to take him to the emergency room!"

"The… The hospital?" Kyle faltered, realizing the gravity of the situation.

Sheila gently picked the boy up and they all hurried down the stairs to the car.


	8. Chapter 8

"He's gonna be okay… Right, mom?" Kyle asked in a shaky voice as she laid him down in the back seat of the car.

"Hurry, Gerald!" She ignored Kyle's question.

As soon as Kyle took a seat in the back with his super best friend, the car sped off.

_Please be okay… _Kyle begged in his mind, looking down at the boy.

The car hit a rather large bump speeding toward the hospital, which jarred Stan back to consciousness.

Stan let out a low, painful moan as his eyes cracked open to see a blurry vision of Kyle illuminated sporadically from nearby streetlights.

"Kyle…?" He whispered in a confused tone.

"Stan!" Kyle was nearly ecstatic.

"Wha-…?" He exhaled heavily.

Sheila spun around in her front seat and placed her hand on his leg, soothingly.

"Don't worry, Stanely. You're pretty sick. We're going to get you some help; we're almost at the hospital."

This news took a few seconds to sink in, as he was still regaining his senses.

"The… Hospital?" He looked up at Kyle, terrified and still confused.

Sensing the overt fear and confusion of his facial expression, Kyle placed his hand on Stan's arm as a comforting gesture and tried to explain the situation at hand; though he was not entirely sure what had happened either except for the obvious.

"You passed out," Kyle said tersely.

Stan paused another moment to recall what had happened only a few minutes ago. As if his senses had paused along with him, he suddenly remembered how sick he actually felt.

"I feel okay now," he lied as he struggled to sit upright with his spinning head.

"Lay back down," Kyle implored. "Look, Stan, I know how much you hate the hospital but you gotta trust me. You need some help right now that we can't give you. You'll be alright. I'll be right beside you every second we're in there, I promise. Okay?"

_He's right…_ He thought, reluctantly.

"You better not break that promise…," he conceded as he closed his tired eyes and slumped back down into unconsciousness.

* * *

He stirred as his eye was forced open and an insanely bright light filled his vision field.

"Can you hear me, Stanley?" A foreign voice asked.

He responded by weakly trying to bat the light away.

As the spots faded and his semi-blurred vision sharpened, Stan was able to make out a male and a female figure leaning over him.

_Probably a doctor and a nurse… _He shivered, feeling sick to his stomach again merely from the location he now realized he was at.

* * *

"He's been sick with the flu for a few days I guess. His parents had to go out of town today and I offered to take care of him while they were gone. They were only going to be gone for one day! He was doing alright last night. I don't know what happened! Kyle said Stan woke him up a little while ago and was _really_ sick. He had a temperature of 105 and he passed out! That's when we rushed him here!"

He could hear an obviously still panicked Sheila explaining what had happened from just beyond the precipice of the ER room he was in.

His medical personnel continued their diagnostic work.

"It's alright, Mrs. Broflovski. We see this pretty regularly. From what you're describing it doesn't sound like anything too out of the ordinary. Stanley should be alright," another nurse reassured, he presumed.

"I just got off the phone with the hotel desk of the place where Randy and Sharon are staying," he could hear Gerald entering the conversation now. "The guy at the desk said he would send someone to get them up and he would have them call me back as soon as possible."

* * *

"Alright, champ, we're going to hook you up to this cool machine we have here," the doctor directed Stan attention off to his left side. "It's a vital signs monitor. It reads your pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and some other important things we need to know to make sure you're okay. We just put this cuff around your arm and put this clamp – a pulse oximeter – on your finger and we're good to go. It doesn't hurt at all, alright?" He explained what he was doing.

Through all the hoses, wires, and clamps running to this machine, Stan was thoroughly scared now.

"Kyle…?" He whimpered, helplessly.

"I'm right here, dude," the familiar voice responded, but from further away than he was comfortable with.

Stan turned his head toward the door where Kyle was standing.

"They told me I had to stay out here…," he spoke in a tone laced with anger and guilt of breaking his promise.

This worked him up even more.

"You're doing great, honey," the nurse tried to calm the dismayed boy.

"Pulse: 125bpm, Blood Pressure: 87/56, Temperature: 40.5°C, SaO2: 96%," she read aloud, recording his vitals.

"Alright, buddy. I'm pretty sure this is just a simple case of dehydration but we're going to draw us up some blood just so we can be sure," he said with a comforting smile. "I'll go talk to Mrs. Broflovski," he stepped out.

* * *

"Mrs. Broflovski," he approached. "Stanley's been sick for the past few days, correct?"

Sheila nodded quickly.

"Has he been vomiting or anything of the sort?"

"I believe Sharon told me that he has been."

"Has he been eating or drinking anything?"

"He ate dinner with us about ten hours ago but before that, I'm not too sure. You're going to have to ask his mother about that. They said they would be heading back right away."

"From what you've described to me and the preliminary vital readings I have, I'm pretty confident in diagnosing him as being dehydrated. We'll take some blood to check electrolyte and bicarbonate levels to determine how severely dehydrated he his and to see if there is anything else going on. You can tell his parents he'll be alright."

* * *

The nurse proceeded to retrieve some vials and a butterfly needle and began prepping Stan's arm to take some blood.

He was shaking.

Kyle slipped into the room to Stan's side, not caring if he got into trouble.

Luckily, the nurse didn't mind.

"The needle isn't that big, Stan," Kyle attempted to comfort.

"It doesn't matter how big the needle is Kyle! I don't like needles at all! Or being sick! Or blood! Or hospitals!" He yelled.

"Stan! It's okay. They just want to make sure nothing more serious is wrong with you, that's all."

Stan looked down, away from Kyle.

"Come on, Stan. I know you're tougher than this…"

Stan nodded, strengthening his resolve.

"Just a little pinch…," Stan winced as she inserted the needle.

Stan had his eyes shut tight as to not see what was happening.

About a minute later, "All done! Good job!" she said, wrapping the site with a pressure bandage.

"We'll get these processed in just a few minutes. Hang tight," she patted Stan on the shoulder.

Sheila and Gerald walked in as she exited.

"The doctor said you are going to be alright, Stanley," she attempted to console the frightened boy. Your mom and dad are coming and they'll be here as soon as they can. We'll stay here with you until they get back, sweetie."

* * *

A short while later, the doctor walked back in with some lab results.

"Stanley here is suffering from dehydration, as I suspected. His sodium, potassium, and bicarbonate levels are low enough I would like to admit him for at least a day. He is going to need an I.V. for fluid replacement; .9% sodium chloride should do the trick. As for his fever, some acetaminophen will get that under control."

_Jesus…,_ Kyle thought.

"Thank you, doctor!" Shelia breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're going to move you out of the ER to the PCU; okay, Stanley?"

"_at least a day…," _Stan was extremely upset now.

He attempted to sit up, under the impression he had to walk to whatever the PCU was.

The doctor eased him back down into the bed.

"We'll get you there. This thing has wheels!" He spoke in a light-hearted tone.

"Sorry…," Stan felt pathetic.

"It's okay, sport. Don't worry about it. The nurses will take good care of you. I'll be down to check on you in a few hours."

* * *

The nurses moved him down the hall into another room.

This room looked a little less like the traditional white-walled hospital room he was just in, but aside from the different tint of paint and some random picture on the wall by the door, it was a hospital room just the same. It did not make Stan feel _any_ better.

Sheila and Gerald took a seat on the far side of the room. Kyle pulled his chair up beside Stan.

After a few minutes, a new nurse walked in.

"Hi, Stanley. My name is -," He lost all concentration as he focused in on the sickeningly thick needle tethered to a bag of clear fluid she held in her hand.

"How are you feeling?" He re-entered reality.

_What the hell kind of question is that?! I'm in the hospital! How the hell do you think I'm feeling?! _He thought, furiously.

"Awful," he decided to answer, in an agitated tone.

"Don't worry, honey. We'll get this I.V. started and it should make you feel better," she said, prepping his arm for what Stan was sure would be nothing shy of a butchering.

From his incessant shaking, she could tell he was terrified.

"It's really not as bad as it looks, I promise."

_Liar! _He screamed in his mind.

"You'll be alright, dude," Kyle soothed. "Do you need to hold my hand?" He teased the boy to lighten the mood.

"Ready?" She asked.

To his surprise, Stan took his offer seriously. He grabbed Kyle's hand and nodded quickly.

He yelped in distress as he felt the thick needle puncture his vein, clasping Kyle's hand with crushing strength.

"Jesus!" Kyle was caught off guard.

"Oww...," It had brought Stan to tears.

She taped the needle and hung the I.V. bag.

"There! Good job!" She exclaimed, rubbing his back.

"How does it feel?"

"It -," his voice broke, "burns," he sniffled.

"That should go away in a few seconds. If it doesn't, you tell me. Okay?"

He nodded in acknowledgement.

She exited and returned a short while later with some more medicine and a large cup of water.

"This should help with some pain and that fever," she handed him both the medicine and the cup. "And I want all that water gone before you can go back to sleep. We're just outside if you need anything, alright?"

"Okay…," he downed the pills and sipped on the water.

About half an hour later, Sheila and Gerald were both asleep on the other side of the room. Kyle was still up with Stan as he finished his last bit of water.

"How you feeling?" Kyle yawned, still at his friend's bedside.

"A little better…"

"You need any more pillows or blankets or water or anything?" He asked in an attempt to make him more comfortable.

"I'm okay. Thanks."

"Sure."

There was a short pause.

"Sorry for almost breaking your hand, dude."

"What are you apologizing for? I offered! Just remind me to watch out for your death grip the next time I piss you off," Kyle chuckled as he made himself comfy in his chair.

Stan smiled as he shut his eyes. Knowing full well where he was but also feeling safe next to his best friend.

They both fell asleep shortly thereafter, worn out from the long, _long_ night.

* * *

Stan awoke to the predictable beeping noise the monitor he was hooked up to made about every minute. The sun was up and he could hear people moving about on the other side of his door.

Sheila and Gerald were gone but Kyle was still sleeping in the chair next to him, curled up in some weird position with half a blanket thrown over him.

"Kyle," Stan whispered.

"Hmm…?" He responded groggily. "What's up?"

"Where did everyone go?"

"You're parents got back at about six this morning, that's when mine left. I told them I wanted to stay here and your parents said that would be okay. They woke me up a little while ago and asked if I wanted to go down to the cafeteria with them to get some breakfast… I told them I wanted to sleep more," he covered his head with the blanket and lowered his head. "They should be back soon."

He could tell Kyle was exhausted.

"You didn't have to stay here," Stan felt guilty now.

"I know I didn't _have _to stay here," he removed the blanket from his head. "You're my best friend. I'm not going to leave you alone in a hospital. Plus, I made you a promise."

"It means a lot to have a friend as good as you, Kyle. Thanks."

"I told you we should have stayed home with our son, Randy!" They were apparently _still_ bickering, hours later, as they entered the room.

"Stanley!" Sharon yelled, noticing he was now awake.

She rushed over to him and scooped him up into a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry we left you, honey. I knew we should have just cancelled our plans to go to that stupid game!"

"It's alright, mom," Stan assured.

"We're glad you're okay, son," Randy hugged him as well.

"What about the tickets?" Stan was curious.

"Well…," Randy began, "They're supposed to be non-refundable, non-transferable but I talked to some higher-up and he said they could probably make an exception. Considering this is a special circumstance."

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Sharon asked.

"A lot better, thanks."

"The doctor said you should be good to go home tonight if your electrolyte levels come up enough," Sharon relayed.

Stan sighed in relief.

"I told him to drink water or he was going to end up in the hospital," Kyle interjected, comically.

"Shut up!" Stan commanded.

"I guess you really are feeling better if you think you can win an argument with me!" Kyle challenged.


End file.
